Shakespeare's Changeling

“Are you implying that my daughter’s ravings are true?”

“Bravo, Lord Fishmonger, I can see that my words have hit their mark. You didn’t think I’d ever learn about it, did you?” Oxford whispered, “but even a madwoman can speak the truth.”

“Edward, you’re wrong to take Anne’s delusions to heart,” Burghley said, as he steadied himself by placing both hands on the table. “The doctors say her ravings are caused by unhealthy humors. And as far as your income is concerned, my control over it has been an act of kindness. You simply cannot go on squandering your money on plays and players.”

“But it’s my money and I can spend it as I please!” “Not if the Court of Wards determines otherwise.”

“You preside over that court, you sanctimonious embezzler – you, who are unfit to live even on the molten outskirts of Hell! I’ll teach you to toy with me! Consider this an act of kindness!”

Oxford plunged his dagger into the table between the middle and index fingers of Burghley’s right hand. The old man flinched and nearly fainted. Seconds later, he opened his eyes and found that the blade had missed him by a hair’s breadth.

The Earl of Oxford was gone.